November 15, 2009
7 p.m.

This job had been an unexpected turn in Scott's life, but it had been a convenient one. While what being a janitor entailed didn't seem quite his cup of tea, it at least provided him with access to Morgan, which is more than he could have said otherwise. Certainly, they could have run into each other in town at some point, but this placed him right under her nose, and well, he wondered how long until she would notice him. Would she hate him for not telling her? or would she believe it was his way of trying to surprise her? He could try to convince her, after all, that he had been planning how he was going to tell her and she'd just ruined the surprise. But he knew that once she realized the "leg" underneath the jeans he wore was not his, that little white lie would come crashing down around him, but he still was self-conscious about it. It might have been a few months of intense rehab, but it still wasn't natural. It still rubbed wrong at times as his stub shrunk and that caused it to bleed, which meant he had to stop what he was doing until it stopped. Thankfully, that didn't happen too often. Otherwise, he would be seriously screwed.

With a sigh, he took out the push dust mop. The dining hall was mostly empty at this time of night. Dinner had already been served, though one person remained to run the register for things like bagels and pastries. The few students who remained were small groups chatting and hanging out or individuals who were studying, so unless someone came in and got a soda and managed to spill it or bought a pastry and dropped the wrapper, the floor was going to stay fairly clean. So he had no excuse to procrastinate. He had already worked on the hallways when classes had let out earlier in the day, so after this, he could relax for the night, which sounded really good right about now. His leg was feeling a little sore as it had been a busy day. The girls' bathroom had overflowed at least twice. He had to wonder what these kids did to them. A little toilet paper went a long way. Then again, there were a few other things that could have been done, and that made him feel a little squeamish.

He pushed the dust mop over the tile floor, watching as a few unrecognizable food particles raced ahead while others clung to the blue strings. As he felt the slight jolt from it hitting a chair for the umpteenth time, Scott decided to set the broom against the wall and then began to push the tables over towards the wall and turn the chairs over onto them. Easier than having to fight with table and chair legs. However, after a few moments, he sat down, his hand lightly rubbing up and down the part of his leg closest to the prosthetic. He glanced over towards the students, making sure they weren't watching him before turning away a little more from their view, which unfortunately placed him in clear view of the door, but as no one had entered in the past ten minutes, he wasn't going to sweat it. Instead, he rolled up his pant leg, removing the prosthetic and setting it aside. It was agitating him, and he just needed a few moments without it. He glanced down, making sure it was clean before resuming massaging the top part of his leg.

Scott nearly jumped as he heard the sound of the door being pulled at and he tried to reach for his leg as soon as he realized who it was, but it was too late. She was staring. But why wasn't she saying anything? Didn't she recognize him? What if she had and she was too shocked? What if she was appalled? What if she would refuse to talk to him again? Now, he was getting a little dramatic, he chided himself. It was no use trying to hide it now even if she hadn't seen it because even if he had it on again by the time she came back by, it wouldn't make a difference. She'd know it was him. Maybe if he managed to leave before she finished in line... No. He didn't want to have to run from her, to hide from her. The very thought made him feel like a coward. However, by the time she came back by, the prosthetic was back on and his pant leg was back down. Part of him hoped she'd just walk by and that by some act of God or fate or whatever it was that was out there she would fail to recognize him even if it would hurt. No such "luck."

"...S-Scott?" She looked shocked, and he couldn't really blame her. After all, he was supposed to be deployed in Iraq right now, not anywhere near Chicago and certainly not with a prosthetic leg. He stared at her from his seat, not truly certain he wanted to deal with this situation quite yet, but she was right here before him, and there was no avoiding it. After a couple moments had passed, the young man pushed himself up into a standing position, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he headed over to her, spreading his arms a little for her in case she wanted to hug him or touch him or something to make sure he was real and that she wasn't seeing things or having a "good dream." (He wouldn't consider it a good dream given the prosthetic, personally.)

"It's me," he assured her as he reached her. This was not the reunion he'd had in mind when he'd first been deployed. He'd imagined surviving with minor injuries during his time serving and then returning home and meeting his family and Morgan at an airport. Tears were a part of the equation, of course, but they were happy tears, not tears of pity. And shock certainly was not involved, only relief and perhaps a lot of spoiling on his mom's part. But thus far, only the latter had happened: shock, relief that it wasn't worse, and spoiling from his mother as well as that uncomfortable feeling that pity brought. Now his own girlfriend was staring at him in shock. He just hoped she wouldn't use these first few minutes together to talk about his leg and what had happened because, quite honestly, he didn't want to talk about it. He'd talked about it enough and he wanted to just have one reunion that didn't involve the obvious right away. He just wanted to forget that hellhole where it had been boring as hell until the shit was scared out of you, and unfortunately, he'd had the shit scared out of him. Plain and simple. What else was there to discuss?

As he approached her, Scott couldn't help but feel a little confused by her lack of immediate movement. Was she upset? In shock? About to faint? He couldn't place it, but it was a relief when finally she set her snack aside and met him the rest of the way. His eyes closed as he wrapped his arms around her and held her as close as he could with the way her hands were on him. The feelings that were washing over him as the reality of the situation he had been through set in made it difficult not to cry, and all it took was her declaration that he was home as she wrapped her arms around his neck for the dam to break. He held her tightly as he pulled her to him, and he opened his eyes, looking up and blinking to keep himself in check. He was home. He was home, and he was with her, and it was all over now. He wouldn't be going back to that hell on earth. He was safe now, and despite how overwhelmed he felt at the moment, he was happier than he had been in over a year.

His eyes closed and he tilted his head towards hers as she whispered against his ear, enjoying the old familiar feeling, and as she pulled away, he suddenly felt exposed, naked before her. He brought a hand up to his eyes, dabbing at the few tears that still rested at the brim of his lower lid in an attempt to maintain some dignity. It took all his will to refrain from pulling her back into his arms as he looked at her. What if this was all some cruel, delirious dream and he would wake up soon and find himself in that hot, merciless desert, alone despite the people around him? He had dreamed of this moment since the very minute he'd left, and at first the letters they had shared were enough, but soon it had set in that it was going to be a very long deployment. Her letters had been both welcome and not all at once for the hope they brought was nearly overpowered by the pain he had felt knowing he couldn't talk to her 'til they both were too tired and couldn't think straight, much less talk, knowing he couldn't hold her or kiss her or anything else. And now it felt surreal to be in her presence and know that suddenly all that had been taken away had been returned.

But god, if he had known this was what serving his country meant, he never would have done this.

Morgan's words barely registered with him as he studied her as though attempting to memorize everything about her at this moment. The fact that they had an audience was unnoticed by him. They were far away and outside of his vision. She was all he saw and all he could ever want to see. However, he did catch "...get home?" He looked down a moment to think. "Seven months, maybe eight," he replied with a bit of a shrug as he looked up at her. It wasn't that he didn't care or didn't know what knowing that he had been home that long yet hadn't told her might make her feel like. It just was that it really didn't seem all that important right now. He was here at this moment and would stay here. "I didn't want you to see me like..." He glanced down at the injured, partially amputated leg before looking back here. "I missed you...so much." He offered her a meager smile as he held out his hand to her. "Want to go for a walk?" Yes, he was trying to divert her attention, but what did it matter?

"A stupid question?" Scott pondered as he glanced over at Morgan and offered a simple smile and a shrug as though to say, "Whatever." It hadn't mattered, after all, that it was best left a rhetorical question, the answer the obvious one she'd want. But it wasn't stupid. "Not really." The moment he had awoke in that bed with the rest of the injured soldiers and had realized what had happened he had wished for nothing more than to have died the second that damn thing had exploded, to have been shipped home, cremated, and to just be no more. The thought at that time had been the overwhelmingly simple and obvious answer to his problem. He hadn't wanted to deal with the harsh reality that he had to adapt, had to learn. It had been easier to wish he had died even if it had made him miserable for the doctors to be around and for himself.

It had taken a few weeks for the doctors to get him to try walking again. He had been despondent and unresponsive, only occasionally moving to pick up some tattered picture or another, not even caring how embarrassing and demeaning having a catheter and such was, which was obviously unlike him. They had sent a therapist to speak with him, and he had sat there, listening and occasionally glancing at her to show his annoyance but otherwise ignoring her. So, she had tried making him angry. That had gotten a response. He had started at her while declaring she didn't know anything, only to nearly fall. She had caught him and helped him back and left. After that, he had began complying with the doctors. The catheter had been removed and regular meals given.

So, stupid question? Not really. He still had his days, his moments, where he wished he had never come home. Before seeing her, it had been one of those in between times. Even now, he felt a little uncertain. If she had reacted differently, less tolerantly, yelled at him, he might have easily been pushed to make rash decisions. Confrontations weren't easy for him anymore; whereas before he may have been able to joke to lighten the atmosphere, now he was a little more vocal. But thankfully, she hadn't. She'd reacted like he had hoped, like he had somehow known all along--like Morgan. She wasn't making him feel self conscious, wasn't making bold accusations even if perhaps she had thought them. She seemed to understand even if perhaps she didn't. She was being supportive. It was what he needed, and for that he had chosen to ignore the pity.

"It's taking a little to get used to," he finally replied after walking a few steps in the hall in silence, watching the ground. "But, between combat and the hospital, I haven't really had a chance to work a regular job, have some downtime where I can relax, spend some time with my girlfriend." He flashed her a smile. "There a movie or something you wanna see this weekend or something?" Maybe it was presumptuous to even ask, but he felt like it was something he was supposed to do. And besides, trying to pick up like nothing happened allowed him to push the big purple elephant further away and to avoid having to discuss it. He'd take her to dinner somehow, if he could, and a movie, and they'd talk and cuddle and maybe he could return to some sense of normality, some sense of security. The only problem he could foresee was he was faculty and she a student, but surely no one would say anything, right?